CW: discussion of sexual assault

She's got a tendency to spit up Hennesy; she's spinning, sinners see her spittle twirl. A girl in blue is hurling, hurtling through virgins bottlecapping corners—borders flare, the order's spared. Boarders dare to drink her drips. I saw the bit of candy crushed across her lips. Her nanny told her,

“Skip the spit by smoking up.”

She missed the hint, she's holding cups of gas in lungs, a flash, she's rung her bell and hung her shell. Into the coop, but Koopa's off, his duty’s done, and who could blame him? She ain't know the pain of raiding Peaches, pieces flying (utterly disposable). She knows it! Bowing low to Mario, the toilet bowl man (she found him near the drinks) but toilet bowl ran. A gurgle then she's done; her voice has rung throughout the cult; she heard them mumble—bolted.

Crawling through a window, dipping fast; no one heard her stumble on the grass or the sound of sirens screeching, people reaching as their keys are taken from their hands. Thankfully, though no one understands, not even her, she made it home. She made it home. She lives alone now.